


Shadows and Dust

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Sex, Angst, Bottom Ezekiel, Guilt, Introspection, M/M, Public Sex, Season/Series 09, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is already feeling more guilt than any one man should be able to stand...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows and Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [counteragent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent/gifts).



> This was written for FandomAid's Typhoon Haiyan's fund rasing event. Counteragent bought one fic with this as her prompt...Season 9 fic, Supernatural, something with Sam, Dean and Zeke in it, Gen or S/D/(E). Cas can show up if you're so moved but the focus should be on the S-D-E relationship. Does not have to be more than 1500 words but it's fine if you want! Hope this is something like what you want hun :)

Baby eats up the miles like they're inches on a map, from finger to thumb and they're in another state, looking for something else to shove a blade into.

It's ass 'o' fucking clock in the morning and by rights Dean should be dead on his feet but he can't sleep, hasn't slept properly since he shoved an angel down Sammy's throat.

Every time Zeke sticks his head above the parapet Dean's reminded that he can't turn his back, not for a second, because if he does there's a distinct possibility he'll be chasing Sam's tail across state lines. 

Sam's steady breathing is the only soundtrack he can stand now. In the middle of the night, driving with no lights, nothing but inky blackness surrounding them. It's soothes his frayed nerves to hear the familiar hitch in his brother's chest, to watch the silvery string of drool snaking down his chin.

Sexy Sammy, really sexy.

Actually, in the last two months Dean's realised that Sam could walk in wearing a bow tie and a set of sock braces and he'd still be drop dead bone-able. Nothing like a little life or death to shunt your libido into the red. 

That first time after Sam was well enough to try a little rough and tumble, Dean damn near broke the needle.

As Sam'd laid his head on Dean's chest, laced their fingers together and squeezed, he'd asked, "What's wrong De..." and fuck if Dean hadn't had to almost chew the end of his tongue off to stop from confessing all, to stop himself from laying it all out for his brother to pick through.

Lying to him is more painful than when the hounds made his insides his outsides and Dean doesn't know how much longer he can keep from spilling his guts. What's worse is Sam knows his brother well enough to get when there's something eating at him. He's not stupid, he's far from stupid in fact and the closer he gets to truth the less the older man's able to breath.

Dean's been the same since he had to shoulder Sam's dead weight back when he was still skinny enough to fit in his arms. That first night at Bobby's after he'd sold his soul for the chance not to have to bury his brother, he'd very nearly snapped the spare bed's headboard.

When Sam checks out, Dean feels the overwhelming urge to fuck it into his skin, to mark him in ways that can't be erased. It's as if he wants his brother so well branded that when yet another gnashing beast of doom comes calling, they'll know beyond a shadow of a doubt where the younger Winchester belongs and who he belongs to.

Sam can't sell his soul if it's already been claimed and that thought's been snapping at Dean's heels for years.

Since allowing the holy roller head space Dean's been contemplating the meaning of good and evil. You'd think by now he'd have a pretty decent handle on it, but with every passing year, with every unstoppable disaster they manage to throw off the rails, the lines in between have gotten muddier and muddier until neither one of them really knows right from wrong.

Dean stabbed a woman to death because of what she was, thinking that he was doing right. Despite what he told Sammy about trusting his gut, he spent the next three weeks not sleeping or eating and throwing up belly full after belly full of cheap whiskey. _Right_ isn't exactly black and white anymore.

When he heard Sam asking Death if he could promise the permanence of his demise Dean panicked, he flung his arms out and grasped whatever straw he could find not to have to stalk these shadows alone. Was that right? 

When Sammy finds out there's going to be one mother of a fight. It's going to be a teeth breaking, knuckle splitting, hell for leather knock down drag out and Dean's not sure if he wants to win or just lay there and let the hits rain down. 

He hopes Sam will at least stop and think, just for a moment, why Dean needed to take whatever action he could. He's still hurt that his little brother was ready to dive head first into the light. He understands on some level how tired Sammy is, how very ready for it to all finish he is, but how could he just walk away from everything they are, to the world and to each other?

Sam shifts away from the window, as if he can sense Dean's rising heart rate even in his sleep, and leans his head against his big brother's shoulder.

Sam's head is heavy and he can feel saliva seeping through his over shirt but Dean won't shove him away, not when he's unsure how much longer he'll get to feel that weight cradled against him.

Dean rests a hand on Sam's thigh and squeezes, let's the rasp of skin warmed denim bring him back to the here and now and away from the possibility of life without his brother. He still wakes in the night, sweat soaked and heaving for breath, the memory of his baby boy's body covered in wires and tubes, face sunken and grey.

He finds himself curled against Sam's shoulders, biting back harsh sobs and praying his brother's still sleeping and can't hear the terror in his heart beat.

Sam stirs slowly, forcing his way through layers of thick fog back to consciousness. Before he's figured out they're still in the car he's already felt the tension in Dean's shoulder and he wonders what's got his brother so worked up on a road in the back end of no where with nothing but the night for company.

Dean feels Sam's weight shift and realises he's close to waking, "Rise and shine Sasquatch."

Sam sighs, looks down at his watch and tries to focus on the time before leaning his chin on Dean's shoulder and searching his face for a clue as to what he's thinking, "You okay Dean?"

Dean nods once and reaches for the radio, hoping some ear splintering tunes will throw Sam off his hunt for the truth, "I'm fine, just thinking."

Dean's been stupidly affectionate of late, not hearts and flowers will you marry me affectionate, but waking with his head resting against his brother's shoulder, drooling and _not_ getting hollered at affectionate. 

Taking advantage of Dean's lack of ire at being dowsed in bodily fluids, Sam stretches an arm round his brother's waist and hooks fingers in the top of his jeans, "I could _hear_ you thinking in my sleep. What's got the your brain all active at this time of the night?"

Dean plasters on an incredulous look and tutts at Sam, "Dude, I do _think_ on occasion you know. It isn't all pie and porn."

Sam ignores Dean's attempt at distraction and raises an eyebrow, "De, come on, what's getting at you?"

Dean sighs dramatically and lays his hand over Sam's arm, "Cas, I was just thinking about Cas. Reckon he's okay?"

Sam weighs up his options for a quick get away if he answers that honestly and decides one less row is probably a good thing, "He's fine, he's a big boy, can tie his shoes and everything."

Dean knows Sam's placating, avoiding a row and he's thankful for it, especially seen as Cas didn't actually choose to leave but was thrown out on his ass by the one guy he thought would always have his back, "Yeah, 'spose so. Man I'm done, I need a bed or at least a jacket for a pillow, not sure I can make it back to the Bat Cave tonight. Pull in?"

Sam goes to straighten up and grab the map in the foot well but Dean's fingers tighten on his arm and he relaxes back against him, "Motel or side road?"

Dean's fairly sure Sam's catching on quick that there's something major he isn't telling, but for whatever reason he's keeping his doubts to himself. That's almost worse than coming out with the fact he thinks Dean's a giant douchy git for letting Cas walk away, "At this point I could sleep on a washing line, let's pull up and crash before we actually crash."

Sam nods but says nothing, knowing Dean's got something on his mind he isn't saying and wondering, once again, what's so terrible he feels the need to keep it to himself. 

He thought they'd gotten passed the whole lying to each other shtick a long time ago, especially after their little heart to heart in that church. The fact he's blatantly being less than truthful about something is beginning to grate on Sam's last nerve but they've been so close, so in sync of late that he's reticent to call Dean out.

Dean flicks the turn signal and pulls into a tree lined field, making sure the car isn't visible from the road before killing her engine.

He lets the silence and Sam's body heat envelope him for a moment before letting go of his brother's arm and opening the door.

Sam follows Dean out of the car, grabs their bedrolls and starts laying them out on the ground next to Baby, "It's warm enough, don't need to squish in the back seat."

Dean nods and throws himself down, "Yeah, could do without waking up with a crick in my neck, you're too big to sleep in the back on your own, let alone trying to flatten me with that huge ass of yours."

Sam sits down next to Dean and rests his head back against the cool metal of Baby's back door, "Been a long assed month man, I could do with a little down time," he realises his mistake the second it's out of his mouth. His brother shifts sideways and grabs his chin, eyes searching for something he can't quite put a finger on.

Dean drags Sam's eyes level with his own and worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, "You okay? You feeling light headed, I knew we shouldn't have taken that case, you're still he..."

Sam huffs and pulls his chin out of Dean's hand, "If you say I'm still healing I'm gonna break your bloody nose. Will you stop treating me like a fucking child with tonsillitis. I'm _fine_!"

Dean covers the hurt in his eyes by coughing and shifting away from Sam, laying himself out full length on the ground, "Sorry, just...you nearly bit the big one Sammy. I'm having trouble letting it go."

Sam's face softens out of the scowl he's perfected from years of pouting at his big brother when he can't get his own way and lays a hand on Dean's cheek before folding himself into the older man's side, "I know. Look, De...I'm not gonna break, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, you're stuck with me. You and me against it all, remember. You gotta stop trying to wrap me up in cotton wool, I'm suffocating."

Dean watches Sam lean up on his elbows and searches his eyes for any sign of the angel nestled in the back of his brother's mind. 

Satisfied it's Sam in the driver's seat, he shifts around beneath him until they're slotted together like the apposing puzzle pieces they are, "I don't mean to..I didn't want to hem you in Sammy, I just...you almost died...I..."

The hitch in Dean's voice is enough to completely obliterate any annoyance Sam's feeling and reminds him just how many times his brother's had to watch him fade away, "I'm here, see..." 

Dean stretches into Sam's hand as he runs the pad of his thumb along his brother's tensed jaw, "I know, I know you're here but you almost _weren't_... **again**! Can't leave me to do this shit on my own Sam."

There's a layer of bullshit covering the real pain in Dean's voice and Sam falls on him, responding on instinct to the all out hurt he keeps locked down tighter than a drum. 

Dean feels Sam's lips before he sees him move and he closes his eyes and savours the taste of his baby boy at the corners of his mouth. The kiss isn't particularly coordinated and it's none too graceful as far as moonlit snogs go, but it's enough to ground the older man out, bring him back from the edge of total panic he seems to be permanently floundering in.

Sam senses Dean's need to let go, to lose complete control in the arms of the only man strong enough to hold him up when he falls and does the only thing he can; starts divesting his brother of every piece of clothing preventing him from feeling skin on skin, "Naked, now."

Dean doesn't answer Sam just starts clawing at buttons and zippers, ripping and rending stitching from cloth until their clothes lay in tatters around them.

Sam's jeans are open and shoved haphazardly down his legs, bunching against his still tied boots and Dean's ass is scraping against the brush beneath their sleeping bag but the sting of stiff foliage digging into his skin is better than the pin prick guilt that's been stabbing behind his eyes for the last however many weeks, "Sammy, need..."

Sam nods into the hollow of Dean's throat and sucks hard on the erratic pulse beneath his lips. Not giving his brother chance to ask, Sam spins on the spot and arches his back, displaying himself, "Dean...fuck me."

Dean lunges for his discarded jacket, grabbing the lube from an inside pocket before throwing the worn piece of clothing out into the darkness.

Laying the tube on the ground, Dean grips Sam's hips and pulls him backwards, "Want to feel you."

Sam allows Dean to pull him up against his chest, enjoy the familiar feel of his brother's weeping cock pressing against the base of his spine.

Dean pops the top on the lube and squeezes as best he can one handed.

Using his brother's thighs as a lever, Sam leans forward far enough for Dean's hand to fit between them, for lube slicked fingers to slide along the cleft of his ass, making him shudder and moan, "Then feel me, moron."

Dean chuckles at Sam's need to insult even when they're butt naked and sweating. 

Sam's cock is half hard and twitching against his thigh as he feels Dean press searching fingers against his tight ring of muscles. As his brother massages him, he groans and bites down hard on his bottom lip, drawing a thin line of blood that drips down his chin and onto his chest.

Dean sees the glint of Sam's teeth in the dark and uses his free hand to force his brother's face round far enough to lap at the red droplets congealing against his skin.

As the metallic tang of blood hits the back of his throat, Dean's cock jumps and a thick rope of pre-come slithers down Sam's back joining the already sticky mess of lube gathering in the dimples of his lower back.

Sam tries to pull away to give Dean more access but his brother just loops an arm around his chest and holds him in place, "No, don't."

The urgency in Dean's voice isn't something Sam's used to. He's heard fear and need and anger whilst they've been like this but never this level of urgency, like his brother is drowning and he's the life raft.

Lacing his fingers with Dean's, Sam spreads his legs and shuffles backwards, resting himself in the shorter man's lap, "Okay, okay, I'm here De...not going...oh god, not going anywhere."

Dean slides two fingers inside Sam, paying close attention to the way his body yields to the intrusion, like it was built for him, like it was made for the sole purpose of being enjoyed by him.

Crooking his fingers, searching out the small bundle of nerves that turns his brother into a whimpering wreck every single time, Dean massages Sam from the inside, scissoring his fingers and widening him, readying him.

Sam's chin hits his chest and he stops trying to hold the moans back, stops worrying about being heard as Dean fingers his ass. They're long passed the point where either one needs to show restraint when it comes to this. His brother knows how to work him and it doesn't involve gentle ministrations and soft caresses, not when he can feel the raw need in every touch.

Dean pulls his hand away from Sam's ass before gripping the base of his cock and squeezing, staving off the little twitches that tell him when he's close to blowing his load. He wants to be inside his brother when he lets go, wants to feel his release filling him, feel it dripping back down the side of his shaft as he pumps his hips and digs his nails in.

Sam follows Dean's fingers backwards and squirms in his brother's lap, "De..."

He sighs and arches back, pressing his ass against the tip of Dean's cock as his brother starts to rock them on the spot, tiny thrusts that leave the taller man panting and biting down on his already split lip.

Dean splays his hand against Sam's shoulders, pushing him forward ever so slightly, just far enough to see the tip of his cock nestled inside that tight sweet ass, disappearing with every buck of his hips, "So tight Sammy, so fucking tight..."

Sam decides Dean's taking far too long to fuck him into next week and untangles their fingers so he can dig his nails into his brother's thighs.

Using the solid mass of Dean's legs beneath his hands, Sam pushes up, pulling almost all the way off of his brother's cock before rocking his hips and thrusting downwards, burying the thick shaft fully inside himself, "Wanna ride you, wanna...god De..."

It doesn't matter how many times Dean feels Sam's tight muscles squeezing the length of him, milking him of every involuntary twitch and animalistic growl he's capable of, the older man still hopes this is the way he goes, the way he shuffles off this mortal coil; boots off and buried balls deep inside the man that means more to him than his own life.

Sam feels Dean's arm shift and a set of strong fingers grasping his neglected cock and he fucks into his brother's hand in time with the none too gentle thrusts pulling him apart at the seams. 

Sam's flesh is achingly familiar weighted against his palm and he barely thinks about it before he's pumping his fist and forcing himself as deep inside his brother as he can.

It's an addiction, the sound of Sam falling to pieces around him and he's so close to losing it that he almost misses the silence when it descends and the stiffening of his brother's shoulders, "Sammy?"

The faint blue haze emanating from Sam's eyes illuminates the ground around them and Dean recoils, makes to pull out and away when the strong tones of Ezekiel's voice coming out of his brother's mouth stops him.

"Dean, do not stop."

Dean swallows passed the rising bile in his throat and violently shakes his head. He tries to let go of Sam's cock but Zeke forces his brothers fingers in between his own and holds on tight, "Zeke, don't make me do this, this isn't for you."

Ezekiel turns and stares into Dean's eyes, grinds himself onto the cock that is rapidly softening inside him and licks a trail along the human's clenching jaw, "I have already experienced this Dean. It is not like you haven't made love to him with me inside."

Dean snorts at Zeke's use of the cutest and sweetest term for what he and Sam do on a regular basis, "That's not the point, Zeke this is mine, mine and Sam's, I can't do this...please don't..."

Zeke nips at Dean's lips and nuzzles into his cheek, "Do not pretend this body isn't still pleasing to you, I can feel you hardening, can hear your heart beat, it is tapping a rhythm into my back."

Dean shoves Zeke away, not fair enough for his cock to feel the sting of cool air but just enough so that he can try and catch his breath.

This is wrong, wrong on so many levels. Can Sammy hear this, can he feel Zeke grinding down onto his cock buried deep? Is the angel allowing him head space or is he tucked deep down somewhere, wondering why moments ago he was being fucked by his brother and is now floating in the cloying darkness of his own mind?

"I want to feel this Dean, I have been watching you together, you look so...beautiful, so graceful, both of you. When you are inside Sam I can feel you from my hiding place at the back of his mind and I want to know the touch of flesh on flesh for myself. It is the least you can do."

Dean's anger responses have always been linked directly to his libido and he's so far passed pissed off at the angel for ruining this, for trying to sneak in and steal his and Sam's closeness that he finds himself forcing his brother's body onto all fours and fucking into him with rough abandon. 

He knows that Sam's going to be sore and have no idea why, he understands he's going to have to try and explain away the bruises on his hips and the vicious red scratches down his spine, but right now all he wants is to punish Zeke for stepping in where he isn't wanted, "This what you want, you want to feel me bury myself deep, that it? Been getting off on me and Sammy going at it and want a little taste of your own."

Ezekiel arches his back as far as Sam's muscles will allow and presses into Dean's rough strokes, "Yes, that is it, I...Dean I am going to..."

Dean slams into Zeke as hard as he can and grips a handful of his hair, yanking his head to one side and hissing into his ear, "Don't you dare, don't you dare come. This _isn't_ for you to feel. Give him back, now!"

As Sam's body slumps Dean catches him and drags him back against his chest, cock still throbbing and twitching inside his brother's ass, "Sammy, Sammy! You okay, you winked out on me there for a second."

Sam shakes his head and moans, "Jesus De...what..."

Dean strokes fingers down Sam's face and rocks them on the spot, desperately hoping that his brother can't hear the sickening guilt in his voice, "That's it Sammy, come for me baby boy."

Sam allows Dean control of their rhythm and takes himself in hand, pumping his fist in time with his brother's soft thrusts.

It's a lazy languid tempo that has his head lolling against Dean's shoulder and moaning out his orgasm as his muscles tighten and hot salty come shoots in thick opaque streams across his thighs, "Jesus De...fucking hell."

Dean waits for Sam's body to stop shuddering against him before letting himself go and pumping his hips fast and furious, letting his brother's sated weight press down into his lap. 

Dean's cock jumps and pulses inside Sam as his own orgasm slams into him, forcing him to close his eyes and bite down on Sam's shoulder, "Sammy!"

It takes Dean a moment to realise that Sam is practically asleep against his chest and he shunts them both onto their side, pulling the abandoned spare sleeping bag around them. 

Carding his fingers through Sam's hair, Dean curls himself round his brother and swallows down the rising guilt and self doubt that will see him watching the sun rise whilst Sammy snores in his arms.

The next time Zeke shows his face, they're going to have a very harsh conversation about when is and isn't appropriate to come out and play.


End file.
